


Non-Sexual Age Regression Doctor Who One-Shots

by Sparklypuppy05



Series: The Energy Children Universe [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Age Regression, Non-Sexual, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Regression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 00:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparklypuppy05/pseuds/Sparklypuppy05
Summary: The title says it all. The first "Chapter" has more details. I can't really explain it just in the summary.





	1. Whoops.

Okay! So... hi! To anybody who's new to my writing/this universe: Welcome, I'm Sparkly, you can safely ignore the next paragraph or so. To anybody already following this series: Whoops. Sorry.

So basically, I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but... I'm under 18. And recently, I've been very, very busy with school things. It's safe to say that this has basically sucked any and all joy out of a lot of things - including writing fanfiction. This is why I haven't updated any of my fics in months. However, I've finally gotten a little bit of inspiration back! So, I've decided to start a series of reader-requested one-shots for this series, in the hopes of getting enough motivation back to start writing chapters for the main fics once more. Read on for more info!

Okay, first off, rules.

\- No sexual content. I'm under 18, and I'm not willing to write anything 18+ in terms of smut or graphic violence in this fic universe, considering that its main premise is centred around age regression. This will be **entirely** non-sexual age regression. No BDSM/kink dynamics, no smut.

\- I will allow reader-insert requests, as well as requests for pairings between canonical characters. I'm willing to write for OCs, but it might not come out very well, and it's likely that any OC requests won't be written immediately.

\- I'm willing to write with characters from both Doctor Who and Torchwood. However, I can only write New Who characters, so nothing Classic Who, please! And please keep in mind that I've only watched up to/including S2E1 of Torchwood, so no spoilers.

\- These fics are being written for fun. I will write the submissions that inspire me the most, first. However, every request will be written eventually.

\- Again, **no sexual content!**

Right. All I need for a request is a pairing, but here are some things that would make it easier for me to write requests!

\- The age(s) the regressor(s) in the story regress to.  
\- The personal preferences/emotional state of the regressor(s) in the story. (Are they new to regressing/ashamed of doing it? Have they been doing it for a while, and know what they want?)  
\- A general timeframe for the fic. (What episode(s) is the story closest to?)  
\- Any headcanons for characters that you'd like me to include?  
\- Any general word count in mind?  
\- And finally, it would make writing a lot easier for me if I had a prompt! Even if it's just something simple/a single word, it would help a lot!

Thank you for reading this, and I hope you decide to request! Once again, I'm incredibly sorry for the lack of updates recently! Thank you all so much, and have a great day! :))


	2. Sickies ~ (Martha & 10th Doctor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor age regresses when he gets sick, and because it doesn't happen often, his companions don't typically know. However, after a run-in with an alien pollen on a remote planet, Martha happens to find out.
> 
> (This fic contains scenes with intense crying. Gagging and snot are also mentioned/described, so if you're uncomfortable with any of this, turn away now! This fic also mentions: Pollen, the smell of ammonia, and adult nappies. However, none of these things are described in any detail. The pollen is a plot point, but isn't described in much detail, or for very long.)

In Martha's entire time travelling with the Doctor (Which was really only a few months, probably - it was difficult to tell with time travel), she had never actually known him to get sick. Sure, there'd be an occasional incident with a few sniffles or whatever, but superior Time Lord biology usually fought off even the worst illnesses like they were a simple head-cold. However, today was different. Very different.

They'd been visiting an extremely obscure planet that even the Doctor had never been to. That, in of itself, was a rare occurrence - it felt like the Doctor had visited everywhere, multiple times - but what was even rarer was the fact that nobody had visited the planet, or even sent a probe or satellite, in centuries. Apparently, this was a 'Very very bad sign', the Doctor's words, not hers, and the Doctor had wanted to check it out. However, the moment the pair stepped onto the planet's surface, things had started to change, and fast.

The planet itself didn't actually seem too out of the ordinary. Ignoring the fact that the sky was bright green, the scenery actually looked a lot like Earth - rolling hills with a few patchy forests made up of what looked almost exactly like pine trees, a few rivers that the Doctor had warned her not to go near to for some unknown reason (The water did smell suspiciously like ammonia, even from a few metres away), and an overabundance of tall grasses, which constantly released pollen. As soon as they had taken a few steps forward, into this pollen cloud, the Doctor had bent double, coughing and wheezing. Martha, not being affected herself, immediately jumped to the idea of an allergy. However, the Doctor had quickly pushed her away, before scurrying back into the TARDIS, past the control room, and into the metallic depths of the ship.

Martha, being the curious kind of person she was, had immediately followed him into the TARDIS, shutting the doors behind her. However, as soon as she did so, a kind of... hologram, she supposed, sprang up in front of her. It was a full-body hologram of the Doctor, tinged slightly blueish, half-reminding her of Star Wars. She paused for a moment, curiously examining the hologram as it stood there, silent and still. Presumably, it was still booting up. Maybe it hadn't been used for its intended purpose in a while. Finally, it sprang to life, beginning to speak.

"Martha," The hologram began. "You need to listen very, very carefully. This is a prerecorded message, and I probably won't be able to answer any questions in my current state, but you can probably work out anything you need to know from what I'm about to tell you. Okay? Okay. Basically, if you're listening to this, I'm sick. Not deathly sick - there's a different recording for that - but sick nonetheless. You can probably tell that this is quite odd, but there's something you need to know. When I'm sick, I... regress. Age regress, I guess. Humans do it, too. Google it if you have to. Basically, I'm gonna be acting like a kid for a while. Until I get better, at least. I can take care of myself, so don't worry about me. The TARDIS will take you home if you ask her." The hologram sighed, looking down at the ground for a moment, before up at Martha again. "Thanks for understanding." Its purpose complete, the hologram once again disappeared from existence.

Martha immediately huffed slightly, orientating herself, before marching off into the TARDIS in the vague direction that the Doctor had gone in. She did happen to know about age regression - a friend of hers from a few years ago had been an age regressor, and whilst Martha had never interacted with such a situation in person, she knew a thing or two about how to deal with them - secondhand information really was a lifesaver with this kind of thing. One of the things that she happened to know was that the Doctor probably shouldn't be left alone like this. He probably couldn't actually look after himself, no matter what age he was whilst regressed - he was _sick_, probably very sick, and nobody should be left alone in that state. Plus, he didn't catch illnesses very often at all, so he'd probably be extremely confused about what was going on.

As she marched through the halls, thoroughly angry at life in general, and intent on helping the Doctor, the TARDIS chirped in a certain direction. Obviously, the spaceship knew that the Doctor needed help just as much as she did. Martha quickly readjusted her course, starting to follow the TARDIS's trail of chirping, ringing, and other metallic noises. Finally, she arrived in front of a locked door, and by the sounds of sobs and gagging coming from inside, the Doctor was in there. Martha immediately glanced up at the ceiling, as if asking for help, and the TARDIS immediately unlocked the door. Martha immediately marched inside, and what she saw... well, it shocked her immensely.

On the floor, curled up in the corner, was the smallest, sickest, most scared version of the Doctor she had ever seen. She could've sworn that he'd actually shrunk a couple of inches in height, as well. The Doctor was periodically sobbing and gagging, his trademark trenchcoat flung into the opposite corner of the room. He looked very sick indeed - his face was covered in snot and saliva, and he'd definitely been crying violently. Martha inched closer a little bit, reaching out one hand, and the Doctor jumped violently, watching her warily.

"Hey, it's okay," Martha immediately said, trying her best to sound soothing. "I want to help you. It's okay. I know you're sick, and you're little right now. You shouldn't have to look after yourself."

The Doctor eyed her for a few moments longer, before practically lunging forwards towards her, sniffling and sobbing. Martha immediately dove into action, gathering the lump of crying Time Lord into her arms, before standing up, surprised at how light he suddenly was - light enough to be perched on her hip, like an actual baby or toddler. Given that she'd had no reaction to the pollen immediately, she'd guessed that humans were immune to whatever sickness this was, and therefore, had absolutely no qualms about cuddles, or any other physical affection.

It was only now, looking around the room, that Martha realised exactly what the room was. It appeared to be a room dedicated to just one thing - age regression. There was a plush, dark blue carpet laid down, and light blue wallpaper with cartoon rabbits around the bottom covering the walls. A bed, slightly bigger than normal, sat in the corner - it looked like it could be turned into a cot or crib at will. A wooden nightstand was next to the bed, and a large lamp and a few other items were sat on it. A toybox sat in the corner, and there was a wardrobe at the opposite end of the room. A packet of what looked like adult nappies sat on top of the wardrobe. Martha curiously began to approach the wardrobe to investigate what was inside, but the Doctor whined quietly, so she turned back around and settled down on the bed, the Doctor draped over her - the perfect position for cuddles.

Martha immediately began to settle down, starting to wonder what illness the Doctor might have. It had all the symptoms of a regular cold, or maybe the flu, so the Doctor would only be sick for a few weeks at most. It would probably be a good experience for her, as well, in many ways - work experience for her job as a doctor herself, as well as getting a sense of satisfaction. She did have to admit, as she wiped the snot off the Doctor's face using a few tissues, that he really was quite cute like this. She wondered if he ever regressed outside of illness, or if that was it. As she was thinking, the Doctor reached towards the nightstand, and quick as a flash, retrieved an object. Martha didn't realise what it was until the Doctor had slipped the object into his mouth - it was a light blue pacifier. Martha immediately relaxed, content that her new charge wouldn't choke to death on some foreign object that he'd accidentally swallowed.

The Doctor began to cuddle up to Martha, and she willingly accepted, starting to comb one hand through the Doctor's, quite frankly, extremely fluffy and mussed-up hair. She could only assume that he'd messed up his own hair by accident in his panic. Slowly but surely, the Doctor began to fall asleep, and Martha smiled slightly, continuing the repetitive motions. She could only hope that when the Doctor woke up, he'd be feeling a little bit better. Even if he wasn't, Martha would still be perfectly willing to look after him - after all, he probably hadn't been looked after in quite some time. Usually, that was his job. But, as both Martha and the Doctor now knew: Sometimes - well, always - it was okay to just be a kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First one-shot of the series! This one is actually a lot longer than my usual chapters - 1,548 words. It might not be the best quality, but I did my best!
> 
> This one-shot was requested by sublime42. Thank you again for the request! I took a little liberty with the prompt, as I wasn't sure if an established caretaker/little friendship was wanted, or if the Doctor's age regression was a secret, but I went with the second route, and I think it turned out quite well.
> 
> Please keep the requests coming, as well as feedback on this chapter! Thank you so much to you all, and have a great day! :D


	3. Broken Things ~ (Valiant!Master & 10th Doctor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master - Koschei - was the Doctor's caretaker back on Gallifrey, years and years ago. Under the stress of the Master's attack, the Doctor regresses for the first time in centuries. However, Koschei is here to help him now.
> 
> (This fic contains scenes of regression under stress/an age regressor regressing when they don't want to. There are also mentions of violence, but nothing described in detail. There are also mentions of an age regressor regressing in public/in front of others, and said other people are implied to be shocked at this/staring at said regressor.)

The countdown ticked down to zero, and it was all over.

He had no more fight left in him. The rift had opened, the Toclafane had arrived. It was all over. There would be nothing left. Just the Valiant, what little was left of humanity... the Master's violent regime. The Master himself. That was all that would be left over after all was said and done. The Master, and anything associated with him. Everything and everybody else was doomed to die.

The Doctor could feel himself regressing, and the panic rising inside him at the idea of falling into littlespace in front of Martha and Jack - in front of the Master - really wasn't helping. He hadn't regressed in years, in centuries, in fact - not since his younger years, living on Gallifrey. Since before running away with Susan. He actually couldn't properly remember his time as an age regressor, most likely since he'd done his very best to force the memories of regressing from his mind. The fact of the matter was, a long time ago... The Master had been his caretaker. Well. Koschei had been his caretaker. The main point was that he was quite done with regressing, and especially with regressing in front of Koschei.

However, it seemed that what the Doctor wanted really didn't factor into the equation. He could feel himself physically and emotionally crumpling, trying desperately not to regress fully and start sobbing. After what felt like hours of pain, of _knowing_ that people were staring at him, judging him, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped violently, and the hand moved to his hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp. The Doctor honestly felt like bursting into tears then and there, humiliation be damned, because he knew exactly what that meant.

Way back when he used to regress frequently, when Koschei had been his caretaker, the Doctor had... a few troubles with regressing fully, occasionally. It wasn't every time, but once in a while, he just wouldn't be able to regress properly, no matter how much he tried. Koschei had always helped him on those days, just by thoroughly babying him for a while. Hand-feeding him, lots of cuddles, babyish items like pacifiers and (The Doctor's mind cringed to think about it now) nappies. And, of course, those stupid scritchy scalp massages. Nothing had really helped him regress like being curled up on Koschei's lap, having the other Time Lord's hand in his hair.

As the Doctor was lifted up effortlessly and deposited into another person's arms - a person that he could tell had a lot more trouble carrying him - he vaguely wondered what age he would end up at this time. He did have quite a wide range of ages that he could be whilst regressed. Anywhere from four years old, to as young as a newborn, was on the table. However, it really did depend on his mood. The most common regressed age for him in particular, though, was a young baby - around 6 months old. Nonverbal. Helpless. _At Koschei - no, the Master's mercy..._

By the time that he'd drifted out of his thoughts, he had realised several things. Number one - he was no longer being carried. Instead, he had been set down on a soft mattress of some kind, on his back. Number two - he was almost definitely in a different room. He couldn't hear the loud noises - the too-loud noises - of the Toclafane anymore, nor could he feel the judging stares of anybody not currently being murdered. Number three - at some point in the whole process, he must have closed his eyes, because he couldn't see anything except familiar, almost comforting darkness.

He slowly began to open his eyes, peering around the room. More time must have passed than he'd realised, because his usual clothes - his suit and coat - were gone, replaced by a dark, TARDIS-blue onesie. The Doctor was lying on his back in some kind of adult-sized cot or crib, and he tried to roll over onto his side, staring through the bars at the rest of the room. However, he couldn't seem to see anything except the few pieces of wooden furniture, carved with circular Gallifreyan words, that were tall enough for him to catch a glimpse of. This panicked him immensely, and he brushed off the thoughts flying through his mind (How did Koschei know all these things? How was the nursery set up so fast?) in favour of trying to call out for help. Instead, something that sounded remarkably similar to a baby's cry echoed through the room, and it took the Doctor a few moments to realise that it was _him_ making those noises.

The door opened, and before the Doctor could even think about protesting, he had been picked up, and was currently being cradled by somebody... familiar. Familiar to both his adult brain and his little brain, which was, quite honestly, extremely rare. That could mean only one thing - Koschei had decided to step back into his old role as the Doctor's caretaker. He desperately wanted to fight back, to cry out and wriggle away, but he knew that he was helpless. He was on the verge of fully regressing, and into a young headspace at that - how would he take care of himself? He didn't know how long it would be until he was an adult again. So, very reluctantly and despite his much better judgement, he nuzzled towards his newfound saviour, suddenly desperately wanting the comfort that only _his_ Koschei could provide. A hum of pleasure echoed through the room.

"That's it, darling. You know who I am. How long has it even been since you regressed properly, hm?" Oh, yes. That was Koschei, alright. "Years and years, I would imagine. You were never comfortable with anybody other than me looking after you, weren't you? But it's okay now. You can let go. Let go of being all grown-up and serious, darling boy. I'm here for you now."

And with that, the Doctor did let go. He could feel himself falling, and falling, like that one weird sensation that humans sometimes get when falling asleep, but this time, he didn't wake up. He didn't need to. Koschei - Kos, the Doctor always called him Kos whilst regressed - was there this time. There was no need to stop it anymore. No need to prevent himself from regressing, to hold himself back. It was okay. The Doctor sobbed quietly into Kos's shoulder, almost entirely broken.

"It's okay, darling. I'm here."

But broken things could almost always be fixed, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh, this really wasn't a good one. Not the best quality, and only 1,115 words. I did my best, though, and I hope that you all like it!
> 
> This one-shot was requested by Mimiloveslife. Thank you again for the request! I'm not sure if I fulfilled your request properly, but if you would like me to redo it, please say so! On that note, though, I do hope that you enjoy the fic! :))
> 
> Please keep the requests coming, as well as feedback on this chapter! Thank you so much to you all, and have a great day! :D


	4. (Author's Note)

Right. I have nothing to say for myself.

In short? I got distracted. Things kept coming back up. However! I have returned, and I do have a plan.

I'm planning to finish up this fic (Next one-shot will be up by the end of the weekend, hopefully!), with whatever prompts I have left, before finishing the series. I'm planning to write age regression fic in other fandoms whilst season 12 of Doctor Who is running, and hopefully, I'll have more muse for my Doctor Who regression universe by the end of the series. I haven't quite decided what I want to write for first, but... If I've got any Assassin's Creed or Detroit: Become Human fans here, you guys might be in luck, LOL.

Anyway! Post whatever other prompts you have left now, because I'm closing idea submission at midnight on the 12th of January, BST.

I'm glad to be back, guys. Happy New Year. :)


	5. The Talk (Valiant!Master & 10th Doctor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor's been quite happy with his current situation, but... a talk must be had.
> 
> (This fic contains short, nondescript ideas of violence, as well as reluctant regression. This is a sequel to Broken Things, another fic in this series - you might be confused if you don't read that beforehand.)

It had been... it wasn't clear how long it had been. Maybe days, maybe weeks, perhaps even months had passed since the Toclafane were released. The Doctor's memories were all... fuzzy. Was that the right word? He wasn't quite sure. He let Kos make most of the decisions whilst he was regressed. The most that he'd ever had to worry about was which pacifier he had, or what toy he wanted to play with. And he had to admit... getting back to that was nice. Very nice.

On Gallifrey, things had been easier. Regressing had been easier, on multiple levels. But no matter how hard things got, Kos would always be there to protect him. To care for him, whilst he was regressed or otherwise. But, as the Doctor began to grow into a more adult mindset, he had begun to form memories. Some were nice memories. Some weren't so nice. Some were in that weird, grey area in-between that the Doctor had learned to despise, because it was always so difficult to figure out what belonged there and what didn't. To make things worse, it was even trickier when he was little, when his mind could barely understand certain concepts, let alone sort them into 'Good', 'Bad', and the dreaded in-between. But overall, the memories leaned towards nice.

Being curled up in Kos's arms, holding a stuffed toy of some variety - maybe a dog? - with a Gallifreyan lullaby playing in the background. Being hand-fed meals, and something a cookie or some chocolate if he'd been good (And sometimes if he wasn't good, Kos was awful at not indulging his baby). Getting to fall asleep curled up with Kos. A servant making a backhanded comment about the Doctor being immature, and Kos carrying him back to his nursery whilst odd sounds came from the bridge that the Doctor's regressed mind couldn't place, but his adult mind now recognised as the pained screams of a person being murdered by Toclafane.

Maybe that one wasn't so nice.

The Doctor did still spend most of his time regressed. The way that he was treated when he regressed was just too amazing to pass up. Not just Kos treated him like he was the most adorable being in the world - the rest of the crew did, as well. They were probably being threatened with death if they didn't do it, it was true, but at least they had the decency to be genuine about it. However, he also had a few moments every now and then where he aged up, and was suddenly struck by the indignity and humiliation about what was happening to him. He always aged back down again before he could do anything, but for those few moments... he was in hell.

A time came, one lonely, lonely night, when he was in hell for longer than just a few lone moments.

He'd originally woken up from a nightmare. He couldn't quite place what had happened, but it was bad enough that he had awoken screaming and howling for Kos, Kos who was always kind, Kos who would cradle him in his arms until he stopped trembling and crying. Then, he aged back up, and the crying started again for a much different reason.

He could barely take stock of his surroundings. He was in a crib, an adult-sized one, dressed in a onesie and by the feel of it... a nappy. The humilation shook him to his core, and when he caught a look at himself in a mirror across the room, he gritted his teeth, desperately trying to calm himself back down - he was a total mess, snot and tears covering his face. Footsteps sounded in the hall, and he hurriedly wiped his face on the blankets in the crib, just barely stopping his trembling hands.

The door opened, and the Master entered. He paused for a moment, looking at the Doctor.

"You're in your adult headspace, aren't you?" He asked, far too casually. The Doctor nodded firmly, and the Master walked over, unlocking the crib bars. The Doctor immediately climbed out, and the Master guided him to sit on the ground. "We need to have a talk," He said calmly, and the Doctor couldn't help but agree.

"When was the last time that you regressed?" The Master asked calmly, tilting his head slightly as he stared at the Doctor.

"On Gallifrey," The Doctor replied. "How long has it been?"

"Two months. You're adorable as a baby."

"I know, you always said that. And it's not going to happen again, you know. Treat me like a prisoner if you like, torture me and lock me up, but please, don't treat me like a child. I don't need that anymore."

"How could I ever hurt a baby in that way?" The Master asked simply.

"I already told you. I'm not a baby. I'm centuries old, and I don't need to regress anymore. It was just something stupid to help recover from how stressed I was at the academy. I don't need it anymore, and I'll never need it again. Just carry me off in chains and get it bloody well over with."

"No swearing," The Master chided gently, "And you and I both know that you'll always need to regress. If it makes you feel better..." Think about it this way. There's no escape from here, that's a fact. I'm in charge, that's also a fact. I can either be in charge in a bad way, or in a good way. Everybody treats you so nicely when you're in littlespace... do you really want to give all of that up?"

The Doctor sighed, leaning back against the wall. He hated to admit it, but the Master was right. He needed to regress to cope, and always would need to. Right now, the Master was the only caretaker available. He did have occasional moments of awareness, too, so that was at least something.

"Fine," He mumbled, and the Master grinned wildly. "... Fine. But if I say stop, stop."

"Oh, of course, darling boy," The Master cooed, drawing the Doctor in to curl up on his lap. He begun rubbing circles into the Doctor's scalp, making the Time Lord practically melt into goo. "I'd never force you into anything, sweetheart." The Doctor sighed, partially in frustration, but also partially in happiness. It would all be okay, right? Kos would never hurt him, right? He curled up into a ball as he began to regress, his head leaned against Kos's chest.

Yes. It was okay. He hoped... Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1,100 words! Not bad for a long-ish hiatus, hey?
> 
> This is a response to everybody asking for more of the Master and the Doctor, so I hope you guys enjoy! One week is left to submit ideas, as the deadline is at midnight on 12 January, BST.
> 
> I hope that everybody enjoyed! :D


End file.
